WORDS ON THE HORIZON

DEVOTEE

As I inhaled the smell
of incense
in a room
full of books
and documents,
I concurred with
my inner voice.

In the random
order of things
within that room,
I was praying to
an absent God
without a name.

In my one and only life, 
I have been a sincere devotee
of many things
and many interests.

Such as the sparkling bronze bust
of the ancient elephant,
the cave paintings
I revisited in my dreams
just last night
and have only seen
in pictures
and on broadcast news.

The mind has its own
corner.
It remembered how
my elders
dissuaded me from
going to those cave paintings
across the sea
on a ferry.
To them,
the Arabian waves
grew by great leaps
in the middle
of the earth.
I am a devotee of
that aborted
excursion
because it stays
latched to
the echelons of
adventure
I had relinquished
that day. 

That memory aside,
I am a frequent devotee
of bafflements
afforded by nature
like rain
on a sunny
half-day
or
blackbucks
in the middle of an empty plot.
Or the fluidity of
a boy wearing crimson shades on his cheeks
and walking around the city,
carrying his innate beauty
to places
that have never seen
as wonderful a sight as
him.
In seeing all this,
there's wonderful bafflement-
why do these events
not become
the signatures of our days?

When you see them,
they become
the birth of an
extraordinary aesthetic.
You become devotees
of these frequencies
of light
such as when the sun
chooses to get closest
to that young man's
arched nose
or the restless night
goes straight
for the crescent
in his pupils.

***

My friend and I-
both of us
relatively younger men than others
who have forsaken their
shares
in our favour-
take great pride
in being devotees
of the city
that brought us
this friendship
and concurrence.

That absent God is always
around us.
As we wait for the perfect light
to give us
the hour of angels,
we devote our
spirits
to who we must become
in order to
stay
lighter
and immediate
with our mutual love
for the
diamond-whirls &
soul-songs
in our home.